I Am
by Lady Feylene
Summary: Peter Pettigrew is in Azkaban...his thoughts, if somewhat incoherend. Mild slash hints.


  
  


Disclaimer: None of the HP characters are mine.

  
  


Warning: Mild slash hints.

  
  


Dedication: I would dedicate this to Jen, for the fish line, but I'm still pissed at her for some things she said. So this goes out to Tara, in hopes she feels better.

  
  


Author's Note: Premise: Peter turned himself in, is in Azkaban. He's starting to lose his sanity. A short ramble from his mind.

  
  
  
  


I Am

  
  
  
  


I am...

  
  


I am... 

  
  


I am me. Who am I? 

  
  


I just told you! 

  
  


Why can't I think strait? I need. I need. What do I need? I need so much. I lost it all. I lost everything. I have nothing. It's all gone...over the hills and far away, never to return. I looked in the lost and found but it wasn't there. I lost my marbles. I lost my mind. I lost my dignity. I lost the path. But it was dark...it's hard to see the path, when it's dark.

  
  


I think I tripped. I lost my way, and then I fell, and I couldn't get back up. And when it was light again, it was too late. I wandered too far into the forest. 

  
  


There are bad things in the forest. Dark things, with teeth and claws. They scare me. They always have. They aren't monsters, they're just people. But people are just as bad as monsters. Worse, because people don't look like monsters, they look like people. Monsters look like monsters. 

  
  


It's dark here. It's dark and it's cold and I feel sick. It used to be warm. There were people who loved me. I loved them, too. Why did I hurt them? Maybe I didn't mean to. Maybe...

  
  


My mother used to make chicken soup. It was good on cold days. I wish I had some now. I don't think I'll ever be warm again.

  
  


Sometimes I can think okay. Sort of. I can hear them screaming. Why do they scream? Did I scream? Not anymore. I cry sometimes. Sometimes crying makes me feel better. But sometimes it makes me feel worse. 

  
  


I'm in a box. The box is my own guilt. It's all psychological. Remus taught me about psychology. He always liked to know why people thought the way they did. He was very smart. I'm sure he still is, but I haven't seen him in so long. Maybe he's dead. I wish I were dead. Do fish die, when they go to heaven?

  
  


They hurt me. They hurt me bad. They liked to hurt me. I was easy to hurt. I am delicate, my mother told me so. I'm special too, and people love me.

  
  


Remus loved me, once upon a time. But I was stupid. I loved him, too. He was warm and soft and smelled like leather. Sometimes he smelled like outside. I like the way sheets smell, when they dry outside. It smells like death in here.

  
  


I wish I could go back in time. I could change everything. If I knew how to go back in time, I could do it. I just have to be careful. I can't not come back, and I have to come back before I go. Otherwise everything would fall apart. I can't even tie my own shoes. 

  
  


Time is irrelevant. No one understands that. I can't tell time, anymore. A minute. An hour. A day. It's all the same thing. We didn't discover time, we invented it. It's not a dimension, it's a guideline. Nature doesn't understand time. The ocean doesn't care. 

  
  


Father Time is just Death trying better PR. Same product, friendlier packaging. I wish he'd come and visit me. I want to ask him so much. I want to ask him why it all ended, why it all fell apart. He knows. He knows everything. 

  
  


I.

  
  


I.

  
  


I'm losing it again. It comes and goes, like the tide. I used to go to the beach, when I was a little boy. We'd holiday at the beach. I liked the sand. It was warm and soft. I would build castles in it. I loved to play in it. It slid between my toes like tiny grains of...of sand. I have dirt now. Dirt doesn't make good castles.

  
  


Skip. My mind skips sometimes. Maybe it likes to play jump rope. I wish I could see the sun again. It's hiding, and I can't find it. Did I hurt it? Maybe it doesn't like me anymore. Nobody likes me anymore. I don't even like me anymore. I'm horrible. I'm disgusting and filthy, and I should rot in a thousand fiery hells.

  
  


I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Words don't matter! Words are nothing, they're breath and sound and they don't matter. I hate them! I hate them all! I wish they'd die!

  
  


I can scream. I scream and scream and scream, but no sound comes out. It's just this little sad sound that I hate.

I hate a lot of things. But I love Remus. And chocolate. And the sun. I miss them all....

  
  


Come back. Please, come back. Save me. I always needed saving. I'm still me. I'm still Peter, and I still need you....

  
  


Please...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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